


Deer-shaped memory

by frikdreina



Series: Christmas special 2018 [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Murphy-centric, john reeeeeeally loves deers, john remembers his childhood, kind of nostalgic though, memori fluff, soft john murphy, such a cute memory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-02 20:29:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16794169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frikdreina/pseuds/frikdreina
Summary: John remembers his childhood as he bakes his favorite Christmas cookies.





	Deer-shaped memory

**Author's Note:**

> Just one of the drabbles I wrote for my Christmas special on [tumblr](http://hellmori.tumblr.com/tagged/t100christmas).

It’s still early morning when John walks down the stairs, intending to get some of the dessert ready for tonight’s Christmas dinner. There’s still so much to cook and arrange, he thought they’d have more time to prepare everything. Emori is already up and sitting at the dining table, wrapping Christmas gifts in a brownish paper with little golden pine trees on it. He kisses the top of her head, getting a radiant smile in return before heading to the kitchen. In one of the cabinets, there’s a cookbook filled with his dad’s recipes, from pepper jelly tarts to angel food cake. John starts working on the cinnamon biscuits he’s mastered by now, reading his dad's recipe one more time, just in case. He’s always assured his cooking is incredible, but he thinks that’s nothing compared to his dad’s.

John kneads the cookie dough until it’s pretty smooth, the cookie cutters on the countertop just waiting to get to work. It all takes him back to one certain moment in his life when everything was beautiful and innocent. Little John was only four the first time he helped his dad bake the same biscuits, but that’s not the time he remembers too fondly. In his favorite memory, he was six. He would walk around the kitchen wearing the sweater his mom had knit him, a bright red with a white deer shape at the center of it. 

“Okay, Johnny, are you ready?” His father would ask, taking him in his arms and kissing his cheek before setting him down in one of the taller chairs, so his son could reach the dough without any difficulty. The cookie cutters were tossed on the countertop; a heart, a Christmas tree, a deer, a bell, a star. “Choose one.” 

His dad already knew what he would choose since every year it was the same. Little John’s favorite was always the one with the shape of a deer. He thought it was cute, especially after they were properly decorated. 

Little John would hover around the oven, glancing at it every once in a while, asking his dad if it would take too much longer. “Just a few more minutes,” his dad would say. So about ten extremely long minutes later, his whole house would smell like cinnamon, a sign that the cookies were done, making little John jump up and down, awaiting the frosting decoration. His dad would split the sugar coat into several little bowls, tinting each one with a different color. He’d always let his son decorate one or two, eventually laughing at him whenever too much icing came out of the pastry bag. His mom, on the other hand, would send them a reprehensible glance as she’d watch her newly knitted sweater all covered in frosting. After a few failed cookies, little John would give up his post and concentrate on his dad as he decorates. The brown-orange sugar coating the deer-shaped biscuit, the little black dot as its nose, the lighter orange as its antlers.

He loved the deer-shaped cookies, but most of the time it made him sad for eating the tiny innocent deer; as if its shape was anything more than that. His parents, noticing his reluctance in taking the first bite, would soothe him. 

“It’s okay, honey,” his mom would say with a smile on her lips, stroking his back. “You can eat it, that’s not a real deer.” 

His parents would chuckle at his reaction. Not because they thought he was being stupid, but because it was adorable that their son cared so much about everything, even about an animal-shaped cookie. He had such a big heart back then. 

It’s safe to say that the deer-shaped cookies are still adult John’s favorite, and he doesn’t feel that sadness anymore. At least not for the same reason. 

“Hey,” Emori was now wrapping her arms around his waist, bringing his mind back to the present. “What are you thinking about?”

John takes her bigger hand, the one that’s now proudly unconcealed, to his heart, like he always does when she has her hands on his body. “My dad.”

“What about him?” Emori asks, resting her head against his shoulder blade, focused on him. 

“He used to make the same cookies. In fact, that’s the same recipe he used to bake these.”

John points to the deer-shaped ones with his other hand, not letting go of Emori’s on his chest. “That shape has always been my favorite.”

Emori kisses his shoulder blade over his deer pattern knitted sweater, resting her chin on his shoulder this time so he could look at her. “That’s still your favorite animal, isn’t it?”

He chuckles, the old, broken part of his brain still amazed by how much she pays attention to him, by how she remembers every little detail about his life. “Yeah,” he says, slightly smiling.

“He would’ve loved you, you know.”

“Yeah?”

John turns in her arms, wrapping his around her waist. “Mm-hmm. He would’ve noticed the way I look at you,” he says, raising one hand to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I think he’d say that’s the same way he looked at my mom.”

The golden of her eyes melt inside the brown, her lips molding into a shy, closed-lip smile, her expression as soft as velvet. “I love you, John," Emori says, cupping one side of his face with her hand. "So much.”

“I love you more.”

Emori laughs softly, shaking her head. “Not possible.”

With a silly smile on his lips, John rests his forehead against hers, his hands running up and down her back over the sweater - his sweater - she’s wearing. “Then I love you just as much.”

He kisses her just as soft and tender as he does whenever he’s overflowing with feelings. John buries his face in her hair, his arms circling her torso as firm and careful as possible. He wishes he could live in this moment forever; the cinnamon smell from the recently baked cookies surrounding him and the love of his life as she holds him in her arms, running her fingers through his hair, keeping him safe and warm and loved. A lot of bad things happened to him in the last few years, and he regrets some of the choices he made, of course. But he wouldn’t change any of it because every fall he took, every bad decision he made brought him to Emori, to the woman he can’t imagine his life without anymore. If changing the past meant he would never get to hold her again, then he wouldn’t change it for the world. 


End file.
